


Sand, Sun and Sarcophagi

by caras_galadhon (Galadriel)



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Camping, Established Relationship, Fantasy, M/M, Monsters, Mummies, Roughing It, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-05
Updated: 2007-12-05
Packaged: 2017-11-14 08:19:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/513206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galadriel/pseuds/caras_galadhon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sean and Viggo's vacation wasn't turning out how Sean had hoped.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sand, Sun and Sarcophagi

**Author's Note:**

> For Halloween, I wrote ficlets for people who "knocked" on my virtual!door. (Final total: 12.) [](http://nieninque121.livejournal.com/profile)[**nieninque121**](http://nieninque121.livejournal.com/), my tenth visitor, arrived with a mummy!sheep in tow. Originally posted [in the thread available here](http://caras-galadhon.livejournal.com/344496.html?thread=2651056#t2651056), this is a slightly tweaked version.

This time, it had gone far too far. It was one thing to play out these games in bed, a hat plunked on a head, maybe a worn leather jacket to wear or a riding crop to stand in for the whip, even a handful of trouser snake jokes to round out the whole circus, but this... this _trip_ was a travesty.

It was bad enough that sand had made its way into all sorts of _places_ , and even concerted scrubbing hadn't done much more than rubbed his skin raw rather than ridding him of the grains, all of which were _very_ invested in the science of itching. Or the fact that his SPF 35 had taken one look at the sun beating down on his back and had run screaming for the hills, leaving him with a nasty, peeling burn that was painful to even look at, let alone touch, and as it was _his_ skin to begin with, there was no way to escape the searing pain of it all. Oh, no, what made it even worse was that Viggo was deep in one of his getting-back-to-fucking-nature kicks, and had insisted they stay in a tent "Just like nomads would've! See the sights that tourists never see!" (If only Viggo hadn't sprung that one on Sean while he still had his cock up his arse, maybe they'd be in a hotel with real running water and room service right now.)

More disturbing was that after a week of this insanity, Viggo smelled approximately as bad as the camels they'd rented and refused to do anything about it, even when Sean insisted there would be no sex until he no longer had to hold his nose to sit nearby. That hadn't phased the bugger, who enthused that soon Sean would get used to the smell, solving the problem altogether. (The fact that he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively as he spoke simply made Sean's mood all the more foul.)

Even with all these things weighing down on Sean's shoulders, dragging him into the depths of gloom that only come with a wasted vacation, he would have been able to forgive Viggo after a night or two in a five star establishment with hot showers, soft beds and good food. But running for his life as he was just now -- Viggo clutching the golden idol he'd lately and conveniently "found" in some ruins as he whooped and bounced along ahead, a rotting creature of bandages and filth lurching along behind, moaning incoherent syllables that could only spell doom -- Sean resolved that if they got out of this, there would be no more temples, no more treasures, no more traps nor tricky trails in Viggo's future.

No. There would be no more "adventures" in Viggo's life, not when they always ended like this. And just as soon as they got home, Sean was going to take great pleasure in breaking those damn _Indiana Jones_ DVDs in half.


End file.
